Sparkles and Masks
by Trajectory of Simplicity
Summary: Fate should not be mocked. And what they're doing—time traveling, changing the future—is doing exactly that. Gerome knows it's a waste of time. FE13. GeromeCynthia.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Is the FE:13 fandom dead? Hmm...guess it doesn't matter. This is a melodramatic Gerome/Cynthia experimental fic of sorts. To be expanded on at the bottom.

Chapter 1

You sparkled. Literally.

It didn't help that you were covered in that powder you filched from Tharja (and seriously, Tharja? Of all people? Who knew what it could have been! It could very well have killed you, you imbecile) and it made you _shine_ on the battlefield. It was a halo of yellow displayed around your neck and in your blue, blue hair. It glittered beneath the light of the setting sun peaking between the hilltops of Wyvern Valley. If it had been anyone else I would have thought you looked ridiculous and stupid (and, to be perfectly honest, I did) but it was you. You were beautiful, I thought, and was immediately ashamed.

You were with your mother, who looked so young and healthy and alive that I thought I was dreaming. The two of you were _radiant,_ flying and swooping amidst enemy lines, charging bravely into battle like those heroes you loved hearing about.

Did you know? Did you know it was a farce? That the woman riding beside you on that identical Pegasus was not your mother? You probably did, yet you most likely didn't care. That's just the kind of person you are.

You whooped and hollered as you glittered through the battlefield and the grin on your face was more pleased than maniacal, but you still looked a little crazy and —damn it—you became an actual glowing target.

One, two, three, four archers were aiming at you. I didn't even have to _think_. I was on Minerva in seconds and she whooshed forward with the terrible grace of a war veteran. It was ridiculous. It was stupid. I had _sworn_ not to get involved, not in this timeline, not with—

A grunt and a swing toward the first archer, who barely managed to dodge away. I nicked him in the shoulder and he dropped his bow. Minerva's tail swiped at the next and they were down, but they were not out. I should finish them off, I _have to_ finish them off, but I couldn't. Archers 3 and 4 had let loose their first barrage of arrows at you and you dodged them _beautifully_ _thank Naga_ , but they were already loading their bowstrings for another round—

You had to attack the berserkers coming at you with their hand axes from the ground—

Your mother was occupied with the swordmasters who couldn't stay down—

The first and second archers were already recovering—

"Damn it!" I roared and Minerva screeched beneath me as she swooped down with the speed of a falcon. Her clawed feet swiped at one of the archer's faces as she landed atop him, crushing his bones with a sickening crunch while I threw my axe at the other one before he could release his arrow. He saw me, jerked back, the steel sliced through one arm and he screamed, screamed and the merciful thing to do would be to finish the deed, but there were still archers 1 and 2 and—for martyrs' sake there were _more_?

There were five now, snipers and berserkers with silver bows, glinting under the light like wicked omen. Two aimed at me, but three aimed at _you_.

No no _no_.

With all my strength I threw my hand axe. It missed, _damn it_. The axe was about to boomerang safely back into my hands, but Minerva had to dive a hard right and an arrow whizzed by my left ear. My axe fell uselessly off the cliffs to the wide expanse of the valley and it was going, going, gone. The other bowmen scattered to get away from me. More bows aimed at me at larger distances. Couldn't get to them, had to get these ones first, but as long as they weren't aiming at you.

It was a barrage of arrows. I gripped Minerva's reigns and we barreled to the left, skimmed to the right, tilted forwards, dove down in dizzying circles to dodge them. One managed to nick my cheek. Another flew right by my arm. One almost got my chest, but I managed to stop it with my iron gauntlets. They bounced off harmlessly, but _damn_ they smarted. The arrows were close, so close, but we had to get to the archers fast… Go, Minerva, _go!_

We shot toward the fleeing bowmen and skirted close to the ground in hot pursuit. Two arrows came flying at us. One buried itself within Minerva's scales, but she continued on, continued on. Minerva and I easily overtook the foot soldiers but— _blast—_ my steel axe was still buried in the other ruffian and they were still _aiming at you_. I was unarmed. I was defenseless. I—

Still had Minerva.

And she was ferocious. She was precise. Her clawed feet buried itself in one berserker and he screamed and he fell. Two more arrows embedded themselves in her, but she's beautiful, she's powerful, they didn't affect her at all. She moved, moved, _moved,_ toward the next ruffian, but I managed to pilfer the tomahawk he kept strapped to his back in the split second I had before she did. She crash head butted the next ruffian, swiping at another with her tail with such force, he fell right off the cliff and went down down down into the endless valley.

We couldn't stop, else the other archers would get to us. Keep moving, _keep moving._

I swung my weapon right, just barely deflected three arrows aimed at Minerva's wing. The other two snipers were running, and they were getting farther and farther away from me, but Minerva was faster and I swung my axe just as we whooshed by one and his blood splattered on my gauntlets, but no time no time I lashed out on my other side and buried my tomahawk in the last one's spine. We reared back to gain some purchase, some brief respite from the onslaught of arrows but—

You. Just…you.

You were on your Pegasus with that distracting glowing powder dancing about your head. Time itself seemed to slow down and I finally noticed that the arrows that were dotting the sky, aiming at us, were no longer there. Your armor was splattered in blood. Your spearhead was dripping. You may have looked frightening with the blood upon your body, but I didn't notice that. You were alive. You were unharmed. No major injuries, just a few cuts, a few bruises maybe.

We sat on our mounts, hovering over the valley stretched beneath us with the orange sky framing your face like eternity. You saw me and stared at me, your eyes roving over the mask that covered my face and a look of recognition dawned upon you…

" _Gerome?"_

I stiffened.

Minerva must have felt me freeze upon her back because she huffed at me, concerned. One hand gripped her reigns until the knuckles turned white. The other moved to trace the lining of the mask set upon my cheeks. It was still there. I relaxed just a little.

Your face split into a brilliant smile and you shone brighter, brighter than the stars that were beginning to dot the orange-purple sky. Gods, you were just as beautiful as I remembered you, even with that stupid light powder turning you into target practice. I hadn't seen you smile like that in years.

"Gerome, I can't believe you're here! It's so great to see you! And you're still wearing your mask; for a second there I didn't even know it was you! Which is absolutely crazy because I'm sure I'd be able to recognize you a mile away! Gosh, I can't believe you're still wearing that thing; how long has it been? Like four years now? Well, it's alright, we finally found you and now you can join us!"

My jaw clenched. My hands tightened. My body trembled. Minerva felt it all, knew it all, for she had been with me all my life. She turned her body away from you, ready to fly away at a moment's notice. Masks don't work on her, but maybe—just, maybe—it would work on you. I prayed that it would.

"I'm not joining you," was all I could say. My voice was even, emotionless. Fitting for a man with a mask.

But you…you who hid nothing, who shone like the rays of sunshine breaking through the clouds… Your presence was blinding, overwhelming. Even through the mask I wore, your gaze pierced me.

"Wait, what are you talking about, Gerome? It's been two years! And aren't we supposed to fight all the bad guys and save the day? Hello, there are bad guys everywhere! And Risen! Which is kind of scary considering what happened and stuff, but this time we've actually got a chance to beat them!"

I could not stand to be there for much longer. Minerva turned her head toward me. _Shall we go,_ her gaze asked me.

Another Pegasus glided toward us, "Cynthia, who are you talking to?"

"Oh, Mother!"

Your smile grew, if that was even possible. But since it's you, well.

Minerva and I pivoted in the air to look at your mother's face.

"Hello," she said, nodding cheerfully toward me. "Are you also one of the children from the future? Oh, whose child are _you?_ "

She smiled, excited and full of sunshine. There was blood on her armor from the battle still going on around us, but her smile was the same smile I remembered when she offered us cookies after a long day of play, or when she greeted me at the castle gates, beside you, to welcome me into her arms. It was warmth I felt second only to Mo—

No. _No_. I shall not be deceived!

"…I'm leaving." I began to turn Minerva and myself around. I must _go_. Hide the desperation I felt with this mask because I can't do it. I can't do it.

"Wha—! No, Gerome, _wait!_ Please don't leave! We're finally together again!"

 _Together again_.

I scoffed. "Do not play me for a fool," I said, trying desperately to hide the trembling in my voice. I foolishly chanced a glance at you in the corner of my eye as I turned away completely and I saw your confusion, your frown, the creases in your brow.

A mad part of me wanted to wipe those creases away. To nudge Minerva towards you so I could reach over the expanse of sky that stretched between us, to bridge the gap, to touch you, to _know that you're real_ —

Minerva and I dashed off. I won't. I won't. I _won't_.

Your face haunted me even as Minerva and I shot through the air as fast as we were able. Your light, your smile, your cheerful voice…it was a nightmare I did not wish to relive. Leave me in the dark, _please._ Because the gods knew how undeserving I was. Not after everything that happened. Everything I did.

The battle was still going on around us, and the tomahawk in my hand burned through my gloves but I knew this battle was not mine to fight. Who am I to mock fate? Who am I to…

Oh.

…

Gods, _why_.

It was _them_. It was…

I clutched at my chest and I thought I might lose all the air in my lungs. Minerva swooped through the air, a concerned squeak leaving her throat as she touched down upon land. Trembling, I slid off of her and collapsed to the ground. Minerva wrapped her long body around me and covered me with her wings. It was what she used to do, when the world seemed too large, too frightening, for a ruined boy burdened with loss and despair.

I leaned into her, inhaling her comforting scent, feeling her familiar scales beneath my gloved fingers, a texture that was as much home to me as I could feel now that I had lost everything.

I heard another wyvern's cry (damn it, this cannot _be!_ ), the whoosh of wings and a heavy landing. Two pairs of feet hit the ground: _thump, thump_. Footsteps.

"Hello, there. Are you alright?" A pause. "Oh, what a _lovely_ wyvern!"

"Cherche, please."

"Oh, Lon'qu. Just give me a minute or two, while I—ah!"

Minerva swung her head sharply in their direction. I didn't even have to open my eyes to know what she was saying. _Go away_. _Leave us alone_.

It made me smile, her protectiveness of me. Even in front of her old masters, she still chose me.

I breathed in and out. Twice. I stood. I turned toward them, slightly.

"Wait, you're not one of the villagers."

It was them. Mother and Father. No. Cherche and Lon'qu. Their faces were so familiar it hurt. There was Mother's hair like fire and Father's stoic stance. But they were young, so young. I had never known them without the wrinkles creasing their cheekbones, without the scars upon their necks, their hands.

It was them, but it was not them. Gods, what do I think? What do I _do?_

My hands reached up to touch my mask.

"No, I am a traveller. My name is Gerome." My voice stayed smooth.

They stared at me, perhaps at my mask, wondering if I was trustworthy.

"You were the one who saved Cynthia and Sumia," my fa- no, Lon'qu said. It was a question, though it didn't sound like one. It was just the way Father used to make inquiries when he was still…when we were…

I stood there, determined not to say anything, else my voice give away my emotions.

"What amazing riding skills! I can tell that you and your mount have utmost trust in each other." She chuckled softly. "I must say, it's a rarity to see such expert handling of wyvern such as you." It was my mother's voice, right down to the slight drawl of her vowels, the gentle femininity of her tone, even down to her gaze, so sharp and piercing and painfully familiar.

I ached to throw my arms around her, to kiss her face and stroke her calloused hands and to let her hold me against the terrors of darkness the way she and Father used to…

I shoved the thought away immediately, feeling disgust and shame crawl up my throat. She may look like Mother. She may act like Mother.

She was not Mother.

She smiled a smile so familiar it hurt. "It would be a great boon to these villagers if you were to lend your aid."

There it was. Her chivalry. Her desire to protect, to help, to nurture. I tried not to scoff. I failed.

"Is it not a fruitless venture? No man can stop fate." I would know. I tried. And it nearly tore me apart.

"So you would leave innocents to die and chalk it up to fate?" Lon'qu gave me a glare that shot daggers into my stomach. "Hmph. I judged you wrongly."

His words affected me far more than they should have. Anger, shame, and terrible loneliness ripped at my abdomen. I sneered. "If there is anything I do not doubt it is the cruelty of fate. I have watched it burn everything worth fighting for with my own eyes."

"Then why fight so fiercely against those archers? Are there exceptions to your rule?"

Her gaze was fire and ice; a look that can only be achieved by a woman like Cherche. The light in her rose eyes shone with the beauty of a challenge. Beside her, the man who was not my father nodded, once. His lips tilted upward slightly as he looked at me expectantly.

I had studied that face in my youth so often. The contours of his smile, the light of his eyes, the tilt of his mouth. I knew it all because it was the face of my father. As a young boy, it was his approval I yearned for most. His pride I strove for most. He was my inspiration, my guide, my pillar. Of course of course of _course_ I would respond to the gaze that looked just like him.

I wonder if you knew I would meet them like this? If somehow you had orchestrated all this. From the glowing light powder like a halo around your hair that drew my eye to my bodily reaction that would lead me right into the line of sight of the people I had not wanted to see the most.

But I also know how foolish of a thought that was. I know you would never be able to do something like that. You are too kind, too innocent, too honest for such underhanded tactics. But I still wished I could blame you; hate you, even. Because then it would be easier to refuse you.

But your smile haunted me. Two years of separation condemned me. Years and years of pain and loss cursed me.

I couldn't look at them. They whose hope had not yet died. And I am reminded again that I am a weak, weak man.

"If you would have me fight," I began slowly. Every word felt like a weight upon my chest, "then, fine." I paused, breathed in once. Then I whispered, a promise, an oath. "I'll fight if you wish it."

Fighting back the tears that gathered in my eyes, hidden by my mask, I turned toward the only companion I know I can trust. "Come, my dear Minerva. Join me on one final flight."

I mounted her. Her great wings flapped, her clawed feet kicked at the ground. We hovered.

Cherche's face was incredulous. "Wait…Did you just say…?"

Before she could say another word, we took off toward the battlefield.

Behind me, two beacons of hope. Ahead of me, _sparkles_ , streaking across the orange sky and a smile as bright as the sun.

* * *

A/N: I guess some context is good. I'll do my best to portray all of this in my writing, but I'm kind of an amateur. And I always enjoy constructive criticism, so giving you all a background on my thought process might help in aiding whatever complaints/comments you wish to give.

I'm experimenting with first person-second person viewpoints. I myself am not a fan of either perspectives, but since I'm already experimenting with the kind of fic this is, I thought I'd go all out and experiment on _everything_.

This fic is meant to be a kind of character study on Gerome. FE:13 lacks a good deal of realistic character development (actually, let's not kid ourselves, it lacks A LOT of realistic character development. I mean, the whole scene with Lucina trying to kill Robin! There was no foreshadowing of that happening, and then literally _no_ realistic dealing with the whole scenario. Robin just forgives her? After just one apology? No hint of distrust or suspicion before or after from either parties…? No. Just…no). Saying that, I think the game misses the mark on what could have been very profound relationships, so I'm taking a lot of artistic license with this fic.

In an effort to keep this author's note short and sweet, I'll just say that I wanted to explore themes in Gerome's personality that the game touched on, but never fully delivered. So, I'll be going off script a lot. Introducing relationships between characters that may or may not exist in the game, scenarios that never happened, and referencing some dialogue, but never staying completely true to them.

TL;DR This fic is meant to highlight some interesting aspects to Gerome's character that I think are worth exploring a little, while also trying my hand at something longer than a one-shot. This requires me to take some artistic license, especially in the portrayal of characters and the relationships between them.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The stories didn't do them justice.

I grew up on tales about the Shepherds and their frightening brutality. They descended upon their enemies like lightning: powerful, precise, and deadly. They were shield and safety to innocents, yet vengeful justice to villains. The Shepherds were the pride of the continent, a symbol of all things right in the world.

But seeing them in action before my eyes was…indescribable.

Wyvern Valley was a treacherous terrain of narrow paths and sheer cliffs. The lack of solid land was partially offset by the presence of rope bridges built by the caretakers of the land, however, they were shaky at best and downright dangerous at worst. Yet, despite the lack of decent footing, the Shepherds maneuvered expertly from cliff to cliff with ferocious intent.

Their teamwork was impeccable. If one happened to misstep, a comrade was by their side in an instant to right them. Their formations were fluid and adaptable as each member protected everyone else's backs. Mages and foot soldiers wove amidst the cavalry, utilizing their mobility to bring them to their destinations faster than anyone else would. Even their armored units moved with speed unrivaled.

I saw mages with their robes billowing in the wind, magic swirling along their fingertips. Blades of wind sliced across the chasms to knock wyvern riders off their mount, sending them screaming to their deaths into the canyon. Steel against steel resounded throughout the valley, echoing throughout the hills and wild wyverns screamed their distress to the skies.

From where I was, I could see two dragons: Nowi and Nah, switching in and out of their forms. One moment, a small unassuming girl, and the next, a flash of multicolored light and fierce manakete flame emitted from the jaws of a dragon nearly twice Minerva's size. Yet, the two only targeted those whom they were aiming for. Their clawed feet never once committed collateral damage. The flurries of war streamed constant around them. Fliers dive-bombed into and out of formation, feeling perfectly at home in the high rising cliffs of the Valley. Tricksters and assassins slipped past enemy lines, only to double back and destroy them from behind, and the berserkers never knew what hit them as they fell off the cliffs into the abyss below, already dead. Even the mounted units maneuvered cleverly along the narrow paths. The beasts and their riders were one, galloping heroically from one fatal footing to the next, felling their disadvantaged foes from their elevated positions upon their mounts.

And of course, there was you. Brilliant and glowing, you were one of the more erratic members of the army, yet they still accommodated you. Whether you dashed off ahead to greet the enemy first or doubled back to protect an ally, the army was competent enough to give you the freedom to do as you would, without exposing obvious weaknesses in formations.

From my vantage point high in the skies, I watched them, thoroughly impressed.

You came unbidden to my mind. _…But this time we've actually got a chance to beat them!_

Immediately, I shoved the thought away. In the future, the Shepherds had failed. I doubted it would be any different this time around.

With that thought burning like nitrogen through my veins, I gripped the tomahawk I had filched from the dead berserker and searched for an opening amidst the battlefield so we might join the fray. We zeroed in on a nearby enemy formation about to engage with a pair of Shepherds barely thirty paces away. I counted eight: two archers, three swordmasters, three berserkers. Easy enough. Minerva screeched and we dive-bombed down.

They were too focused on the Shepherds coming at them; they barely noticed us. Aided by stealth, we barreled into their formation and succeeded in scattering them like ants. I clicked my tongue in disappointment. How weak, that they would break formation simply because of one wyvern rider.

Behind me, the Shepherds immediately took advantage of the confusion. To my right, razor wind. To my left, glinting steel. The three of us made quick work of the ruffians before the two Shepherds wheeled around to greet me.

"Gerome?" came the first voice.

And a split second later, "Gerome!"

Laurent and Severa. Atop my mount, I nodded toward them.

The mage's face split into a pleased grin. "According to my calculations, I had predicted that the most likely place we would find you was here. I am delighted that my conclusions proved fruitful."

"Yada yada yada. You and your big words," came the snarky voice of the mercenary. She turned toward me, flipping one of her brown pigtails behind her shoulder. She looked me up and down, then nodded approvingly. "Glad to see you're alive. So, finally come to join the party?"

I hesitated. "Perhaps you could say that."

Severa grimaced at me. "What's with the vague answer? I know you've got your quirks, Mr. Mysterious, but would it kill you to be a little more excited to see us? It's been two years!"

"Quite right. It is beyond pleasing to confirm your well-being."

I looked the two of them over. Their cheeks were red from the exertion of battle, but their eyes were bright, shining, so different from what they were in the future. Like their hope was restored. I fought off the urge to scowl. Was everyone buying into the lie that we could change anything? Hadn't Emmeryn died in this timeline, too? What makes our presence so important that we would prove victorious over destiny?

Severa grinned at Laurent beside her. "It looks like all of us are together again, now that Gerome's here. He's the last one, right?"

The mage pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Correct. If I recall, there were twelve of us. Thirteen, if you count Morgan, but it is still a mystery where she came from. Twelve of the children managed to meet up with the Shepherds within the past month and," he paused to look up at me, his pleased smile still pasted on his cheeks, "Gerome is the thirteenth."

Severa chuckled; her usual sarcastic attitude was gone, replaced with genuine satisfaction. "It feels strange, doesn't it? Naga pulled us into the Outrealms as a last-ditch effort to survive and we had no idea what was going to happen. But here we are, gathered together from all the crazy places we were thrown in to meet our goal."

It was a rare demonstration of solidarity from the usually cynical mercenary. And, truth be told, it sickened me. All of you. You, Laurent, Severa, and the people who shared our parents' faces.

Delusional.

"There is still a battle going on, if you had forgotten," I said, scowling. "You would do well to finish the job."

Severa gawked, scandalized. "Well, excuse yo—!"

I did not hear the rest of her words. Minerva and I shot off to the next batch of enemies.

It was the strangest thing, fighting with the Shepherds. Maybe it was because of the stalwart leadership of Chrom and Robin, but the moment I entered the fray, they fought with me as though I had been with them forever.

I was surrounded by familiar faces. Stahl, Lissa, even Panne… People that I had once thought were lost, but were now all around me: young, strong, and very much alive.

The battle did not last long. As soon as the ruffians realized they were no match for the overwhelming prowess of the Shepherds, most ran away from the valley as fast their legs or mounts could take them.

I stopped for a moment to ensure the safety of the villagers and thanked Naga quietly for the lack of casualties. I intended to climb onto Minerva's back, to slip away quietly before anyone knew I had gone.

But it was not meant to be.

A voice called my name, urgently.

I could have flown away right then and, to this day, I still have no idea why I didn't. Maybe it was the painful familiarity of the voice, calling my name so sweetly. Maybe it was my lack of resolve. Maybe it was because there was something in me, buried deep that wanted so desperately to give in, to collapse into the arms of my parents' imposters.

"Gerome! Your name is Gerome, right?"

I glanced back. "Cherche."

She ran to me, smiling. She slowed down until she came to greet me at my side. "It is good to see you join us. Did you have a change of heart?"

I looked away, feeling guilty without knowing why. "I guess you could say that."

She stepped toward me and placed a hand upon Minerva's side. The beast shrieked cheerfully at her, recognizing the touch of her old master. Cherche giggled. "So, you really are Minerva from the future. How beautiful you still are!"

My mount threw her head back in pleasure.

"If that is all you have to say, Cherche," I spat out her given name because there was another name I felt tempted to call her, "then I would bid my leave."

Her hand dropped and she frowned at me. "Gerome, you are my son."

"No," I said forcefully. "I am not your son. My parents died, years ago."

"Must you be like this? You may have a point, but we can change that! Don't you see?"

I tugged at Minerva's reins and she hesitated, but eventually followed my lead, daring not to look back at the fire-haired woman a mere five paces away.

"So, what now?" she said as I walked away. Her voice was hard, accusatory. "You would just leave? Without even trying?"

"Don't you dare judge me," I cried, wheeling back around, gripping Minerva's leads in my hands ever tighter and taking her with me. I faced her directly. "I fought, too! Just as hard, just as desperate as anyone else! You have _no idea._ "

Minerva barked at my rough handling of her reins, but my emotions were spinning, spinning out of my control. She was here. Mother was _here_ and I… I…!

Her accusatory glare softened in understanding. "You can try one more time, Gerome." Her voice was gentle and kind, just like it was growing up. Gods, it was so _cruel_. "But now you can try with us. I swear to you, your father and I will never leave you. Not this time."

I looked at her. Really looked at her. It was my mother's face. It was her gentle eyes like rubies in its shine. It was her long, flowing hair like the softest down. She was as beautiful as I remembered.

My heart broke. The decision was made.

"Enough," I said. "I will join your war." I took in a shaky breath, hating myself for my weakness. "But I've no intention of getting close to you. To anyone. Fate will not be mocked."

 _I'll not weep twice for losing the same mother._

With that, I padded away, leading Minerva by her reins, more gently this time. Behind me, I heard Cherche call after me. "Thank you!"

I kept going. Minerva continuously nudged my shoulder. _Gerome? Hurt? Gerome?_

I prayed the mask might hide my tears.

* * *

The sun was now fully set and night crept upon the army like a blanket. I had long since presented myself to Robin and Chrom, gaining a proper spot among the Shepherds. They placed me in a tent with Inigo, that womanizing lecher, so gods forbid I actually spend time in there.

The Shepherds' camp was on the outskirts of Wyvern Valley, safely away from its dangerous pitfalls, yet close enough to enjoy a fantastic view of its majesty. I found myself on a rock which would have given justice to the Valley's strangely beautiful view if it were day. But nighttime covered the world in darkness. There was a large abyss in front of me and wind buffeted me upon my perch. Leaning against the rock somewhere behind me was my axe, the tomahawk which I had stolen from the berserker in the battle previous. It remained easily in reach. Just in case.

The stars were bright and numerous overhead and I watched them, barely perceiving their movement across the sky. It calmed me and I breathed in deep, feeling myself begin to relax for the first time the whole day.

I was a Shepherd now, a thought that was so unbelievable to me. The Shepherds I knew were stories, legends; moments of wonder whispered within blanket sheets. They might as well have been imaginary.

And yet here I was, one of them. A Shepherd. An embodiment of hope.

I scoffed. Hope? What hope?

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Heavy and lively and energetic. I almost laughed at how quickly I realized to whom the steps belonged.

"Oh, Gerome! You're here!"

I turned my head and saw you. You were without your armor, wearing a simple long-sleeved tunic and leggings; your sleepwear. A single lance remained strapped to your back, in easy reach if anything were to happen. Your hair was tied in its perpetual pigtails, the dark blue pigment looking almost black in the darkness. The sparkles that made you glow during the battle had long since faded, but the brightness of your grin, illuminated by the stars, still caught my eye. You looked lovely beneath the moonlight and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying so.

"Gosh, I've been looking for you _everywhere_ , but you were nowhere to be found! How do you do that? Must be a nifty skill to have!"

You removed the lance from your back and leaned it carefully against the rock, keeping it well within reach. You clambered on to sit beside me, without so much as asking for permission. You plopped yourself right next to me, your leg bumping up cleanly against mine, and kept talking, "Well, anyway, now that I've found you, I'm hoping we can chat! What have you been up to recently? And more importantly, have you gained any new insights on the sorts of traits a hero should have? For example, a hero could be—"

"Cynthia," I interrupted, your name rolling off my tongue like honey from a comb. You were close, so close. Your shoulders brushed against mine every time you breathed. Your hair blew in the breeze and tickled my cheek. I resisted the urge to grasp a strand within my fingertips and bring it to my lips. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Oh, me?" you replied, cheerful as ever. "I couldn't sleep! I was thinking about you all day!"

I felt my cheeks heat and thanked the gods for my mask and the darkness. It was ridiculous how easy it was for you to melt me. Despite all my walls, despite all my protests, one word from you could break me open completely.

"I hear we have an early start tomorrow," I said, clearing my throat. "It would be best to head to bed."

"What about you? Out here being all doom and gloom?" You giggled and the sound sent thrills down my spine. "Come on, Gerome. We used to talk for hours and hours!"

I said nothing. Your warmth washed over me like a waterfall. You smelled like huckleberries. I turned away.

There was silence between us. The stars in the sky seemed brighter now, with you beside me. But you, you were brighter than them all. The line of your cheek, the way your hair fell across your neck. I yearned to brush it away.

My hand twitched and inadvertently skimmed against yours. Surprised, I jumped away from you, as though burned; I did not even try to be tactful. I closed my eyes and turned my back to you, as much as I could upon the small rock. I couldn't look at you, knowing that whatever face you were making, I would hate it.

"Gerome?" you asked. "What's wrong?"

Words clawed up my throat and rammed against my lips. I kept them closed and said nothing. Your warmth radiated all over my back.

"Gerome, what's gotten into you… Wait. Omigosh, are you hurt? You're hurt, aren't you! I'll go call Lissa!"

Panicking, I grabbed your arm before you could jump off the rock. You immediately stilled and looked back at me, quizzically. In my grip, I could feel the softness of your flesh even through the fabric of your tunic. The light of the moon illuminated your face and my fingers itched to trace the line of your cheek. I wanted to pull you to myself, to wrap my arms around you and press my face against your midnight hair.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself, imploring my beating heart to slow down. It didn't work. "No. No, I'm not hurt."

"Oh, really?" A relieved smile graced your features. "Phew! I got scared there for a second!"

I sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. "Cynthia," I hated how easily your name fell from my lips, how gentle it felt upon my tongue, "we should go to bed."

"Aw, but I really wanted to stay and chat with you! It's been _forever_."

Naga, you were so _persistent!_ Though, I had already known that, since long ago. It was one of the things I loved you for.

I shook my head, clearing away the thoughts in my brain. "Cynthia," I began, then sighed and shook my head. "Please, just…forget about this. Forget about me."

"Wha? No!" you said vehemently. You shook your head ferociously. You grabbed both my arms and brought your face closer to mine so I could not avoid your gaze. Tears gathered in your wide, brown eyes. "Why would you say that, Gerome? We're gonna fix things in this timeline! We don't have to be afraid anymore!"

Exasperation weighed heavy in my chest. I could have rolled my eyes. "You think things can be changed so easily? Didn't Emmeryn already die?—"

"But that's just one thing! As long as Plegia doesn't get the Fire Emblem—"

"And what if they _do_. We still don't know who betrayed Chrom and—"

"That doesn't matter! Everyone is fighting so hard to change the future already! How could you just—"

"So many things can go wrong! In the future, we _failed_ , if you'd recall—"

"But this time is different! We're with our parents now! And together we can—!"

"They are _not_ our parents!" I nearly screamed.

You sat there, shocked.

I said the words once again and watched you flinch at the poison in them. "They are not our parents. Our parents died in the future. The men and women who raised us, they're _gone._ "

The tears gathering in your eyes overflowed and fell from your cheeks. And it was my fault. It was all my fault. "H-how could you say that, Gerome?"

I gritted my teeth. "This is fate, Cynthia. We can fight and struggle with all our strength, but in the end, it might not even work."

Your cheeks flushed in anger and you stood up on the rock, towering over me. The wind blew your pigtails every which way as you screamed at me, "That is _not_ what a hero would say!"

I stuttered her name, shocked for the moment.

"A hero would look at the odds and struggle anyway. A hero would look at fate and say, 'I'll never let you win!' A hero wouldn't care if it were impossible! A hero would hold on to hope, even when there was nothing else to hold on to!"

Your next words stabbed me right in the heart. "You're just being a coward, Gerome!"

I stood up, and yelled right back. " _You think I don't know that?"_

I was a full head taller than you, a fact you used to complain about all the time when we were children. I glared menacingly down at you, knowing my mask made me look far more intimidating than usual. And you glared right back, angry tears streaming down your face. You didn't back down at all, not one bit. In fact, your lips pulled back slightly, revealing a bit of your teeth, and a threatening growl escaped your throat.

Your eyes were alight with fire and passion. You stood, strong and sturdy as a rock, ready to face me, to face the future, to face _destiny_. And there was a stirring something in me that wanted to have that same courage to defy fate, to be a hero, to stand tall in the face adversity.

But we had already tried, hadn't we? We tried so hard in our timeline. Until our hands blistered, our skin peeled, and our hearts bled out. The moon had fallen from the sky. The stars disappeared, one by one, snuffed out by the wrath of a dark god. The ground was cold as we lay there in our final night, waiting for the world to burn in Grima's fire.

And all was in that moment. You gripped my hand, breathing laboriously. You whispered in my ear and the words sang to me like a requiem as the universe collapsed around us. Your gaze then was bright, despite the darkness. It was desperate hope as you held on, even though we had already been defeated. It was the same gaze you had now; bold and defiant in its existence. It was everything I loved about you, confident and proud and brilliant. It was the last thing I saw before Naga's power spirited us away and I was alone.

There was only one thing I wanted to do that night the end came. I couldn't do it then.

My next thought was swift and ferocious, like Minerva streaking across the sky. _But I can now._

I kissed you.

Your lips were soft, if slightly chapped, and little whimpers of protest escaped from your mouth, and I swallowed them all. One arm wrapped around your back and pressed you against my body. The other stroked your cheek, angling your head so I could taste you better.

Your huckleberry scent was all around me and I drowned, drowned in the soft touch of your lips. I tasted the salt of your tears, the sweetness of your tongue, the bitterness of your cries. Your body molded against mine, soft curves conforming to the lines of my torso. You were warm like fire in the winter, like giggles under the sun. I felt your heart beat against my chest. Your hands fisted themselves in my tunic, you raised yourself onto the tips of your toes, and you were kissing back, you were kissing back.

It was desperate, it was painful, it was two years of separation. It was a lifetime of despair. It was one night of crushing defeat.

The reality of what I was doing crashed down on me so hard, I had to pull away, tearing myself from your touch. I pushed you as far from me as possible, my breath hitching in my throat. How could I do this to you? Have I lost all self-control?

I stuttered meaningless apologies while you stood there, flabbergasted. I didn't know what to say. I was scared, I was upset, so I did the only thing I could do.

I turned away, jumped off the rock and, swiftly grabbing my axe, I ran, ran, ran, until I could no longer hear you calling my name.

My feet took me to the only logical place: the stables. I burst into the canopied area where all the beasts were. I frightened a few horses awake and heard disgruntled whinnies as I flew by. My Minerva's head lifted at the sight, smell, and sound of me. Placing the axe which weighed heavily in my hands on the outside of her pen, I hopped to where she was. She received me graciously and I threw myself at her side.

My hands were shaking as I reached up to stroke her scales. I closed my eyes as I placed my forehead against her throat, trying to find solace in the soft thrum of her breathing. She wrapped her body so gently around me, nuzzling me as carefully as she could despite her scales. I could not feel her comfort.


End file.
